Royalty's Blood
by LMWolf
Summary: Even immortality has some surprises for the Queen of Louisiana who has just come face to face with the phantom of her past, her maker.


Disclaimer: As usual subject, the rights to the storyline and Sophie-Anne ultimately belongs to the most humble Charlaine Harris while the character of Adum is strictly reserved for my usages. Ultimately, no flames. Please note the differences you will find here. In the book, Sophie-Anne was turned by Alain and in the show, Sophie-Anne is 500 something years old. Here, Sophie-Anne was turned by the man mentioned below who you will soon learn about and she is over 1,000 years old sticking to the scheme of the books.

_'Man will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.'_  
>-Denis Diderot<p>

"Your assistance was not needed, I could have handled all of that."

These words slipped from between her lips with a surprising coldness, an icy edge attacking each syllable which even made her proud that she could muster such frigidness. Many years of practice, she reminded herself, many years of practice waiting for this moment yet not even a fraction of the words she had rehearsed in her head would dare to rise to her tongue. Those words clogged in her throat and there they would stay, choking her for every last gasp of oxygen that she did not need at all. The fiery red head took a completely un-needed inhale, soft and soothing as it hit influx into her dry lungs while throwing her head to the side and leaning over a bit so she could inspect the medium length tresses of her saturated hair. She plucked up a finely crafted comb from the nearby stool which she applied to her rubicand locks and begun to pool through the moisture darkened bristles, catching any of the remaining bloody membrane that she had not washed away in the warm torrential downpours of her shower.

She could still feel the warmth of the water clinging in the form of beads to her milky skin, the same water whose molten temperature had turned her alabaster epidermis to a shade of blushed pink. The steam had infested her nostrils but she still did not feel as if she could scrub herself clean enough to be in his presence before as she had once stood, virginal and innocent and basking in his love unknowing of how cruel that love could be. If it was love at all. Yet that was over a thousand years ago and such thoughts were futile for a woman of her status. How high she had risen! Yet she would never let herself realize the heartbreak that had ensued from his absence and still plagued her to this day.

She continued to rake and rake, picking at the bloody pieces that clung to the strands of her hair and inwardly wincing as she picked the remains of another creature from her mane, another creature that could have very easily been her if he had not arrived though she knew better then to feed his ego. He constantly fed his own ego and did not need any assistance so she would provide none at all. She met her own gaze within the full length mirror and dared if only for that second to lift her eyes from the reflection of her petite visage to the back of her in retrospect. There he stood, in all of his statuesque height of 6'9 leaned up against the threshold of her door and gazing not to the back of her but to the mirror in which his nearly clear eyes met hers. There was a subtle smirk upon his full lips tightened and pulled against his cheeks were two deep dimpled crevices were found, the rise and fall of his protruding adams' apple in his throat making it evident that he was rather amused. Those damn dimples, she cursed those dimples with every fiber of her being and hoped that somehow magically the flesh of his cheeks would expand to hide up those dreaded dimples.

"You would find something of this magnitude funny. I see you have only become more cruel in your old age." he stated, spitting these words as if to launch them at the ground like the most foul tasting substance. Her attempt to be mean, even cruel fell flat on him for a laugh escaped his lips along with a set of glistening white teeth. Those teeth would have been all but perfect except for a pair of sharpened canines which in mortality may have foreshadowed his future species. His laugh was one of confidence, loud in volume and echoing from wall to wall and incredibly masculine with defined tones. That laugh had once sent chills up her spine, now it just served as a reminder of what she must defend herself against.

She glanced over as he peeled himself from his door frame, allowing herself to be completely self-absorbed with another few pushes of the comb through her hair and examining the comb for any pieces she had missed. She slid the fleshy remains from the comb, feeling the blood coat the tips of his fingers yet the smell of this blood was repulsive and smelt of age and death. It was undoubtedly the blood of a vampire, as if he could forget when the creature had been staked through the back and spouted it's vile all over the Queen herself. She was utterly repulsed by the magnitude of the shower she had received, even if she had seen vampires being staked thousands of times over she never wished to be showered with the self-detonating remains and the vomited blood that erupted like a firehose from the creature's mouth, seeming much like a flea who had been squashed and leaking it's parasitical feeding all over. Of-course it did not make it any better that the vampire who had spewed it's insides was the subject of the man who currently approached her, stealthy with cat like agility behind her. She scraped the remains off of the comb, listening to it plop onto the floor with a wet thud, noting that the servants would need to clean it up later. She had known better then to carpet any part of her Chateau for how much longer could she blame carpet stains on red wine? The excuse was a few centuries exhausted she thought.

"Ah, come now." the man hummed, taking one last loud and resounding footstep against the tile. He stepped hard with the heel of his fine leather shoe yet lightly with the tip, she remembered the sound so clearly. The way her heart would pound against her rib cage while hearing those footsteps down the hall from his bed chambers. Even now, having much abandoned his leather riding boots, she could still hear the sound of those feet clasping their way down the halls of his castle like a phantom of a thousand years before. He stopped to the back of her, reigning tall and his presence caused such a chill in her body that he could not help but feel the coldness down to her very bones.

"Your words do nothing but amuse me. I have lived far too long to live on unfriendly words and ill-intended statements. If you wish to somehow offend me, perhaps to better your own internal circumstances then I will gladly hear it." his voice was a tone of baritone, rolling through these well delivered words yet with a thick Irish accent to only impair his English. The most disgusting part of him speaking was that each word was elegant yet flowed with no effort nor emotion that quivered in the very thickets of his vocal chords. The accent of his native isle had always been disgustingly thick no matter for how many thousand's of years he was fluent in English. His inner Irish brute was so imprinted in his DNA that even in immortality he could not shake it and that same DNA made him never want to loss it.

She had never felt so naked in his gaze, the clothes on her body might as well had been translucent not that the sight of her body would be anything unusual for him. He had seen her in her most vulnerable state and open to him and the world and he had taken her into his arms and assured her of mortality yet she was young and stupid enough to believe that he could ever be trustworthy. Yet, here she was still vulnerable before him and only because a wisp of well-rehearsed words. Her eyes fell down past his eyes, a singular diagonal scar lacerated the span from the top of his dark eyebrow, down past his eyelid and down to his bottom lid to the top of his cheekbone. Some say that scar marred his face yet she had only found the maroon scar as distinguishing, as if not menacing now as her eyes traced down the straight line of his nose, his risen cheekbones, the perfectly asymmetrical plump of his lips and the squared jaw. Upon his head was a short bit of black hair that had been cut close to his head, presumably in the summer months along with deep brooding black brows and the shadow of facial hair along his jawline and chin. She following the length of his pale neck down to the top of his his shirt where the white dress shirt had been unbuttoned several buttons revealing a dark patch of chest hair. His shirt was soiled with similar blood and remains that had been found in her hair, the stuff matted there when he had pulled her up.

"My sweet...I..." he had leaned over as he begun his words, pressing his lips to the side of her cheek and she found her body ultimately responding. She angled her head to the side to pull away from those sweet lips and pushing her hand back, strongly striking the chiseled marble of his lower stomach as if to push him backwards and for any other vampire it might have yet he did not bulge, did not even feel it in the substance of her measly strength.

"Don't call me that. I am not your anything. Not your sweet, your you lady, not your love, not your playtoy any longer Adum...no more." The Queen angled her head to the side, looking up to the man whose face begun to show the tell tale signs of amusement once again, the twitching of the adams' apple and the crevice of his dimples. She regretted her words almost as soon as she had spoke them, had she not just made this the most interesting game for him? Did she have the strength to be chased by him? She knew the answer to both yet swallowed them down.

"But you forget _my_ sweet, _my_ lady, _my_ love and _my_ playtoy that you are _my_ child. I am your maker." he emphasized each 'my' within the statement, turning his head to look back at her in the mirror where they once again met similar gazes.

"You are mine Judith or whatever you wish to call yourself now days but the point remains. You are _mine_ in one way or another." With that being said, he kissed her cheek where he resumed when he had been so rudely interrupted. Pulling back to look to the mirror where the woman before him nearly winced at the contact. Smirking, dimples creased once again.

"And one more thing..." he stated, taking his finger and scooping it against the rim of the woman's ear lobe and removing a large lump of bloody flesh, flicking it to the ground.

"You missed a piece." he clarified before turning around and leaving her to watch each steady step away just as she had done so many years ago.


End file.
